


Too Much

by Topicabo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Greg is Sweet, Hospitalization, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked, Overworking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 13:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9659348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topicabo/pseuds/Topicabo
Summary: Mycroft's severe workload comes to a head.(Note: This is a edited repost of chapter 21 of November Mystrade)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Having a bit of writer's block, so I took a break to go back and choose another of the chapters I liked from November Mystrade for a bit of a touch up. I wanted a Mycroft POV one, since I realized that I have a good amount of them in November Mystrade, but my other posts tend to favor Greg's perspective.

There were few things that Mycroft disliked more in this world than being stuck in a hospital bed. One thing that happened to be worse was being stuck in a hospital bed while in the middle of several high stakes negotiations, as well as planning for upcoming meetings about said negotiations. And that didn’t even cover the paperwork involved. He'd been progressing at what he’d considered to be a better than average pace before this all happened. But at the least, he was reasonably sure that he wouldn’t be trapped in this particular circle of hell for too long.

 

Thankfully, someone had seen fit to bring along Mycroft's phone when he’d been brought in. He might have been momentarily inconvenienced, but he could get some work done via texts and emails. With any luck, the doctors would finish with their pointless tests, Anthea would come to fetch him, and he’d finally be allowed to return to more important issues.

 

Mycroft glanced up from the PDF that he’d been reading when the nurse entered his room.

 

“Mr. Lestrade was wondering if he could see you now.”

 

He scowled, a spark of spitefulness resurfacing. But he nodded. “Very well.” Mycroft placed his phone on the mattress as the nurse left and sat up a bit straighter. With a slow intake of breath, he mentally pushed the bulk of his irritation into a secure cavern of his mind. Though it was hard to say how much civility he could muster when his patience was this sorely taxed.

 

The door opened and Mycroft immediately turned his head away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Greg standing in the entranceway. His face was strangely blank, save for the stiff line of his lips. He stared at Mycroft for a long moment, a kind of unspoken stalemate hanging in the air between them. Then Greg sighed, relenting as he moved into the room and sat in the chair next to Mycroft’s bed.

 

“Got you some tea,” he said, setting the paper cup that he’d been holding on the side table. “Not great, but figured it would be better than the shite they’d have here.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, elbows resting on his knees. There was another stretch of uncomfortable silence before he said, “So I guess you’ve got nothing to say, then.”

 

“That is my preference, yes,” Mycroft said testily. “Though I suppose my wishes matter very little to you.”

 

“Don’t.” Greg worked his jaw, the first traces of his temper emerging. “Don't you do that. You don’t get to sit there and blame me for this.”

 

“Really? Because as I recall, you were the one who insisted on bringing me here.”

 

“What was I supposed to do?!” Greg exclaimed, exasperated. “You were out cold when I found you!”

 

“I woke up, didn’t I? I probably could have returned to the office by now if you hadn’t made such a production out of it.”

 

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing in frustration. "You're not going back to work today. Anthea and I agreed that you need to take some time and rest."  

 

Mycroft bristled. “This is intolerable. I am trying to resolve matters of international importance!"

 

“And ending up like this in the process. When’s the last time you ate? Or slept?”

 

"I cannot shirk my responsibilities just to cater to your trivial concerns.”

 

“I’m not asking you to cater to me,” Greg said, gritting his teeth as he struggled to maintain a moderate speaking volume. “I’m just asking you to take better care of yourself.”

 

“I have managed that perfectly well up until this point.”

 

“Yeah? ‘Cause it looks to me like you’re going to work yourself to death.”

 

“That at least would be preferable to listening to your incessant nagging!”

 

The tension in the room went from subtle to substantial. The ensuing silence was nearly deafening to Mycroft, his posture rigid as he heard Greg inhale and exhale a measured, drawn-out breath.

 

“Look at me, Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft frowned, confused at the lack of a furious retort. He held out for a stubborn moment before turning his head. His resolve abruptly cracked when he took in the distress on Greg’s face.

 

“Do you know how long it took me to wake you up after I found you? Seven minutes. I timed it. And even after you were awake, you didn’t seem to recognize me. I couldn’t get you up, couldn’t get you to tell me what had happened.” Greg winced, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought you’d had a stroke or a heart attack.”

 

The first precursor of guilt pricked inside Mycroft. “I don’t remember that.”

 

Greg laughed dully. “I guess not. You did eventually come out of it. At least enough to chew me out on the ambulance ride over here.” He covered Mycroft’s hand with his own, shaking his head. “I was terrified, Myc. I just wanted you to be okay.”

 

All of Mycroft’s crossness had drained away, leaving him with an unpleasant sensation in his gut. He hesitated, and then turned his palm up so he could lace his and Greg’s fingers together. “I didn’t realize it had been that severe.”

 

Something in Greg’s expression eased up a little. “I meant to tell you a bit less dramatically, but I mucked that up pretty good, didn’t I?” He raised their linked hands and kissed Mycroft’s knuckles. “I’m not trying to interfere with your work or make you change. Lord knows I overwork myself plenty too. But maybe don’t shoulder everything on your own? Tell me before it gets to this point. I know I can’t be involved much, but I’ll try to make things a little easier on you. Just…please don’t make me go through that again.”

 

Mycroft had no words at first, his shame sharp like bile in his throat. He reached over and lifted Greg’s chin, brushing their lips together. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I will try to be more careful.”

 

Greg smiled, cupping his free hand against Mycroft’s cheek. “I know you will. You’re brilliant like that.” He leaned in for a second kiss, pressing close as he could manage with a hospital bed between them. Mycroft’s heart ached at how much Greg seemed to need that physical reassurance.

 

He would do better. How could he do anything less if Greg asked it of him? There was more, so much more that Greg deserved. Things that Mycroft feared were beyond his limited capacity to give. But this? This much he could do.

 

And at the very least, it was a good place to continue improving from.

**Author's Note:**

> While I liked the original story just fine, I like the flow better now, especially the ending; it feels a bit less clunky.
> 
> Part of me feels like I'm cheating a bit not posting something new. But revisiting thing like this helps shake out the cobwebs. Thanks for indulging me on that!


End file.
